


12.04 - Dessert

by dontbefancy



Series: Christmas Traditions - Klaine Advent 2014 [4]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-28 05:32:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2720567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontbefancy/pseuds/dontbefancy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How about a little visit into the ARV verse? No need to have read Angel in a Red Vest to enjoy this, however.</p>
            </blockquote>





	12.04 - Dessert

"What is he even _doing_?"

"I believe he said something about Santa and treats and going hungry." Kurt wiped out the last drops of water from the glass he'd unloaded from the dishwasher and set it in the cabinet. When he closed the door, he was faced with a very unamused teenager.

"He does know Santa doesn't—"

"Don't. You know how he gets."

"I know how you both get. I'm sixteen. I think it's about time—"

"Yes, sixteen. Old enough to know that sometimes you just keep your thoughts to yourself."

Adrian rolled his eyes and pushed off from the counter to, Kurt assumed, torment his dad. Or to steal a cookie. Which didn't seem like a bad idea, so he followed him.

And when he got there, he had to shake his head at his husband. Blaine was bent in half laying a trail of carrots from the _gas_ fireplace—as in no chimney—to the little table he'd set up near the Christmas tree.

"Dad! Oh my god, you are _not_ setting out stuff for the stupid reindeer!"

Blaine stood upright with a pleased grin. "I most certainly am. They need nourishment too." He popped a baby carrot into his mouth and offered one to Kurt who politely declined. He was here for the cookies.

"Really, Dad? Why go to all this trouble? No one here still believ—"

"Ah-da-da-da-da-da. None of that. He won't come if you—"

"The presents are in the guest room closet."

" _Some_ of the presents _might_ be in the guest room closet. You don't know what happens after you go to bed."

"I know you come out here and eat all the cookies after I go to bed."

"Okay, Mister Know-it-All. Who eats them when I’m at the station all night, huh?" Blaine popped open a cookie tin and picked through the top few for, Kurt assumed, the best looking treats to offer.

"I'd assume Papa does?" Adrian looked at Kurt. "Right?"

Kurt really wanted a cookie. So, he feigned innocence.

"Papa, et tu, Brute?" Adrian scoffed and reached into the tin only to have his hand smacked.

Blaine yanked the tin from him. "These are not yours, traitor."

"I am not a—are you _serious_ right now?"

Kurt stepped closer to the tin and aimed for one of the crumbled cookies on top. Surely a damaged cookie would be an acceptable—

He got his hand slapped too. "Blaine, give me a damned cookie. You're being ridic—"

"Wait. Wait, wait, wait." Adrian stood in front of the treat table with his mouth hanging open. He pointed at a dish on the table and looked at his dad like he quite possibly had grown horns.

"What?"

At the distraction, Kurt finally got his reward. He popped the almond meringue into his mouth before Blaine could put a stop to it.

"What in the hell is in that dish?"

Blaine looked to where Adrian was pointing, second glanced back to Kurt who was chewing and swallowing as if he'd just savored a sliver of decadent chocolate, and then back to the dish. "It's—" He also had the decency to blush.

"Blaine… is that… ?"

" _Granola?_ Dad?"

"It is not—" Blaine looked up at Kurt, then up at his son and grinned. Big. Toothy. Ridiculously. "It is not granola. It is deer dessert."

"Deer dess—" Kurt blindly grabbed two more cookies from the tin and handed one to Adrian in apology. He wasn't even sure what he was apologizing for, but he thought the trauma of this moment might be quelled with sweets.

"I think you've inhaled too much smoke—"

"And if you don't _like_ it, young man. I will be more than happy to pen a succinctly worded note to Santa Claus explaining that you no longer need your stocking placed on the foot of your bed because you no longer believe."

Kurt dipped into the granola.

"Okay, now you're just playing hard ball. My stocking is… it's… I mean, every _year_ we… and it's filled with all sorts of… "

"Traditions." Blaine moved the bowl of granola out of Kurt's reach and placed a few more cookies on the platter. "Go set up _A Christmas Carol_ in your room. I'll be in shortly."

"At least give him a whiskey instead of milk, Dad. I mean, the old guy's gonna have a rough night."

"What do _you_ know about whiskey?"

"Breathe, Blaine… and bring the tin in with you."


End file.
